The Summoning
by MacaroniWithExtraCheese
Summary: Like the Celestial mage, the Rune mage must make pacts and bonds with the Ecriture forms they lend in battle. But unlike the Celestials the Rune mages make pacts not with spirits but underworld demons. And those pacts and contracts don't always go according to plan. (T for Swearing)
1. The Summoning

_A/N: I've always wanted to write a story in the workings of Freed's magic. I'm not saying my theories are correct or even good. But they were fun to write! I am leaving this as a One-Shot for now, and if people are interested I'll expand on it a bit. I do have an idea of where it might go. But it really depends if anyone finds the first 'intro' chapter interesting or not XD._

Thanks for reading!

* * *

_The Summoning_

_Ecriture_

_The summoning of runes._

_The binding of words and the law of magic._

_The written runes are said to be one of the oldest magics in the world. So old that many scholars have speculated that it was the first ever written magic. The first to be controlled. _

_The laws of establishment magic are binding, strict and if broken will be dangerous to the perpetrator. A single written word can scar, suffocate, terrorize and even kill. They can not be avoided, they can not be dodged, as the law is obsolete. To the victim and the weilder. But none so much than the demon summons. _

_They are written in a dead language, and call upon the ancient bonds that we once shared with the underworld. Ecriture mages use these bonds to create pacts set in blood. The demons will come to their aid, but each demands a price. Some are steep, some are tricky and others seem innocent. But nothing is innocent about a demon. _

_So a summoner takes care. They place bindings on themselves, a life point a means to keep their head during transformations, and to keep themselves under control at all times. It can be anything. A scar, a tattoo even a blemish on the face, but it must be tangible and solid on the body. _

_For the greatest fear of a demon summoner is to be taken. Taken by the very demons they sought to control. The forms lay dormant within them, the small magical runes keeping these creatures at bay. But Runes are only half the battle. If he loses control of his anger, that monster within gains the upper hand, they gain a foothold and that darkness rushes forth, swallowing the bearer whole._

_Some never return from this state. They are either killed or lost to the vast emptiness of their own minds, where these demons taunt and drive them mad. But the worst are those who manage to become partners with them, allowing the demons to take control. Then they become not human nor demon, but blind monsters bent on destruction who are eventually lost to the underworld._

_The summoning of runes._

_The binding of words and the law of magic._

_And the only Magic type where the wielder is in as much danger as its enemy._

The room was dingy and small. The only furniture a small low table which was littered with scrolls, books inkwells and ledgers. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and faded wooden walls, old and dead. Spiders had long ago given up on the place, leaving small cocoons of perished fly's and other insects hanging lifelessly. It was usually deserted, but tonight the room was was painted in a faint purple hue, laced with dark red on the edges.

The light pumped slightly, creeping up and down the murky walls in a steady and slow rhythm and in the middle of a circle written in glowing Runes, sat Freed. Cross-legged and missing his coat and boots. His head was bowed and if not for the small puffs of breath that stirred his green hair one would easily assume he was dead.

Now the the pumping increased, running further up the walls and reaching the dark ceiling. The words hummed softly, a soft buzzing that was steadily growing decibel by decibel. The glow intensified, and the wooden floor on which they were written began to tremble.

The darkness seem to become heavier, despite the increase of the glow. It stretched and pushed against the pulsing light, forcing it back down. The floorboards were shaking now. There was no movement from Freed. The shadows lengthened, broke free and continued to push. The light now only a small pool which kept him safe, despite the brightness of the words.

The trembling stopped.

Freed opened his eyes and looked up. One eye purple and black and faintly smoldering.

"What is your name?" he asked.

Only if one looked, and looked carefully would the shape of a cloaked figure become visible. The cloak wasn't normal fabric it rippled and move like water made from smoke. Material spun from the very essence of shadow. And in that hood two points of darkness deeper than the darkest of pits. The twin points blinked.

The air shifted, and all one would feel would be cold and the beginning of terror.

Freed nodded and stood. His eye was glowing in earnest now, purple smoke pouring from the edges.

"I am Freed Justine," he said, "And I wish to lend your power-" he said a word which could not be humanely pronounced by any standards, "- what is your price?"

A long silence followed. The figure stared at him. Its cloak danced about his frame, leaking into the cracks and corners where the light might reach. The room was darkening slowly, Freed's hands were starting sweat he could feel the fear running up his spine. It was foolish the Rune's would keep him safe, there was nothing to fear from this demon-

He felt the terror return, a cold shiver ran up his spine and he narrowed his eyes.

"I am strong enough," he said. The demon shook his head, and freed felt a twinge of anger in his heart.

"I have bested Darkness in battle and Shadow in wits," he retorted, "Why should you be any different?"

The light was still fading. He couldn't see the walls anymore.

The creature told him.

And before Freed could retort the darkness rushed past him, leaking past his Runes and brushing his skin. He could feel the terror now, his body freezing from the sudden drop in temperature. His breath now puffs of white smoke. Then shadows continued to swirl, pushing past the runes, grabbing him and wrapping black tentacles around his neck.

He screamed.

* * *

When next he woke there was a pounding in his head. A continued thump-thump which reminded him of poorly hidden impatience. He waited for it to stop, but soon realized the erratic sound could not be inside his head. Freed opened his eyes.

He was sprawled on his back. Sun filtered in through the cracks in the ceiling.

He was alive then. To say he was surprised was a bit of an understatement.

_Thumpthumpthump_**THUMP**!

"Freed!"

There was a decent amount of weariness in his sigh as he stood up. His legs nearly gave way again but a quick grab for the door stopped him from face-planting. He still felt weak, tired and very much sore. But he was alive.

He'd really gotten spooked by that one.

"I am coming!" he called before staggering down the steps to the front door. He fumbled with the door handle and flung it open, letting in the unwelcome sunlight. The urge to hiss and spit like a snake was overwhelming.

"What?" he practically spat, the bright sun burning his eyes and making it hard to see who exactly was annoying him this morning. He looked away and rubbed his brow.

"You look like shit,"

Ah, Bixlow then.

"What do you want?" he turned and went back inside. The happy summer's day doing nothing for his mood.

Bixlow followed him inside, "Laxus sent me, we're doing a mission today," the lummox collapsed on one of the sofa's and watched as Freed started on some coffee on the other side of the counter, "But you look like you had a rough night," there was a thick pause, "You summoning again Freed?"

"And what if I am?"

He shifted.

"You know Laxus asked you to stop," he cleared his throat, "Just until, you know, you get stronger-"

"I know what he said!" Freed all but snapped, he rubbed his eyes tiredly and poured hot water into the twin mugs. He really didn't need a lecture right now. He was tired, sore and thoroughly spooked. A looming question was waiting to be asked, but he was afraid of the answer. He'd never blacked out during a summoning before...

A large hand settled on his shoulder, "Hey, you alright?"

Freed felt the tension just seep out of him. Bixlow was a lot of things. A lummox, a nut and sometimes an idiot. But say what you will about him, he was a surprisingly good friend. A good judge of character and a man who held his word. Something Freed could always appreciate. And despite being completely opposites, they were very good friends. Freed sighed and gestured to the living room. Bixlow nodded and Freed followed with the coffees.

When they were settled and happily sipping away, he decided to speak.

"You were right, I was summoning," he said. Bixlow nodded and waited for him to continue, "I summoned... well let's just say I tried to make a pact with a A-Class Level Six demon,"

Freed reached over and patted Bixlow on the back. The man coughed violently before finally settling back and waving Freed's hand away. He cleared his throat and coughed lightly again, his eyes tearing, "Freed you're controlling A-Class Level Fours right now," he took a sip from his coffee, and swallowed before continuing in a clearer voice, "And by any Ecriture Standards that's already about two levels too high for your age,"

Yes. Summoners were judged by age and experience. Not on sheer power ability. A summoner needed not only keen power, but a keen mind. Often one had to out think these monsters and the ability to think Rune's up at the drop of a hat is a must for any Establishment Mage. Which is why most of them are such late bloomers. Freed was a bit of an exception.

Even before he had started Rune Magic his father had seen the potential for Summoner in him as well. And when he was but five years old he had made a pact with a B-Class Level Two demon. Ten years before he was allowed to make one with a C-Class Level Two. He was one of only three people in existence to make a pact with a Level Four in his teens, and the only one to do so twice.

In power and form Mirijane was technically a Class A Level Six at the least. But it was hard to tell. Which is why he had lost to her so easily.

Darkness was no match for a Satan.

"Yes," he said wearily, leaning back into the soft coach and staring at the ceiling, "I know, I know I wasn't ready. But I need to get stronger Bixlow, I need to gain power and the only way to do that is to grab a demon I can really use in battle,"

Bixlow sighed, "Freed, you're already powerful. And Darkness and Shadow are both pretty epic in battle,"

Freed narrowed his eyes, "Not powerful enough," he raised his hand, "I know what you're going to say. That I am going to get possessed if I keep this up,"

"Couldn't have said it better myself,"

Freed ignored him, "But I do know what I'm doing,"

"That why you have a scar across your neck is it?"

Freed's eyes widened. The image of shadowed tentacles wrapping around his neck far too vivid for his own liking. Putting his coffee down he jumped up and headed for the bathroom down the hall. He flung open the door and stopped in front of the cabinet mirror.

Sure enough there was a pitch black bruise on his neck. Like a skin tight choker that leaned to the left. He turned his head right and left. It went all the way around.

Now he had to find an answer to that question.

_If the demon could have killed me..._

"Freed?"

_Why had it let me live?_

"You okay?"

_And for that matter.._.

He touched the bruise lightly with one hand.

_What had happened while I'd been out?_

He could feel the terror welling up inside him again. But this was different this was real and hot and terrible. The type of terror that grabs you by day. The one that equals to a fire arm leveled to your face. The one that grabs a hold of you when you watch your house burn down with your children still inside. Night terrors were easy to disband. One could tell yourself it wasn't there. But real terrors...

His hand slid across the bruise. It was tender.

Real terrors couldn't be chased away by words and beliefs. And you couldn't run from them.

His hand wrapped around his neck, hiding the scar. He didn't see Bixlow's frown behind the mask, nor the worried stare his friend was pinning him with. The Soul mage sighed. Just what exactly had Freed done?

* * *

For those reading Bound by Scarlet. I haven't forgotten about it! I've just been a little busy of late, and this plot bunny didn't want to leave. So don't worry I will post and update soon!


	2. Post Summoning

As I promised a new chapter! Just a quick thank you to everyone who left a review! Enjoy!

A quick note: Please let me know if I am explaining too much (not leaving enough for the story) or if the exposition is overwhelming. I am a little worried I am over doing the descriptions and explanations here.

Also: If anyone is in the mood for playing BETA-Reader just le me know!

That's it, enjoy the story!

* * *

_Post-Summoning_

A post-summoning, successful or no, was always accompanied by three things:

Sore muscles and exhaustion. This was a given, the amount of tension and restraint it took to keep not only your own powers inside, but also the demons powers at bay was staggering. And the more powerful the demon, the more effort it took to keep everything under control.

The second was sickness. After the amount of strain placed on the body, it was only sensible for its immune system to drop. During this time one was wracked with fevers, nausea, vertigo and if not careful, could easily contract flu's or other diseases which happen to be floating around at the time.

The final, and to Freed the most annoying, was the sensitivity. There comes a point after the summoning where it feels as if every sense had become hyper. Sounds were deafening, skin felt like it was burning, no matter how soft and smooth clothes were. Everything was in multicolour and your nose was more sensitive than a dragon-slayers. But with no ability to discern between scents, it became a jumbled mess which usually resulted in a migraine.

In short Freed was out for the day.

The mission was cancelled when Laxus found out Freed would not be able to join. Bixlow had promised he would keep his mouth shut about the summoning, something for which Freed was very grateful. Apart from the fact that he had disappointed his leader, the actual fear of Laxus killing pr at least seriously injuring him was very real. The man had quite a temper on him, and he was in no mood to be at the worst end of it.

Currently Freed was sprawled on the coach, dressed in soft silk pajama's and ears covered by muffs. His eyes were hidden by a silk ribbon. There was a small glass of water on the table, and a metal bucket on the floor next to his head.

Which he realized he was going to have to use in about three seconds.

He hissed as he sat up and he leaned over. His muscles were set on fire as he heaved, a small trail of clear liquid spilling from his lips. Sweat trickled down his face as he coughed, his head pounding from the effort and exertion. Finally he collapsed back. The mark around his neck stung and burned, and pulled. As if drawn to a fog horn in a thick mist, his thoughts were pulled to the stairs, and to the door which was still ajar.

He felt sick and tired, but beyond this he could feel the demonic energy drip from that room. It was normal really. Demons gave off immense amounts of power, and it always lingered. Usually it didn't bother him, after all he walked with it inside of him the whole day. But after last night he felt cautious and wary. He didn't want to go back in there.

The mark stung, and Freed hissed.

Worried didn't begin to cover it. That thing was giving him trouble, and he didn't even know if he could remove it, or even heal it for that matter. He tried to think of others things.

Lazily he reached up to feel for the glass.

Freed still remembers the first time he went through a 'post-summoning'. Back then he'd been certain he was going to die, but by the evening, and as with all summoning he'd felt better by then. Despite his own feelings on the matter, he had not died. But good gods it got pretty damn close to it in his opinion. Shifting slightly he tried to get a bit more comfortable. The glass was empty. He'd have to get more soon. Bixlow had offered to stay, as he always had back then, but Freed had refused him. As he always had as well. He appreciated the sentiment, but he'd never been comfortable with people seeing him so weak.

That was the result of the wonderful parenting from his father.

Freed swallowed, his mouth tasted faintly of bile.

Dammit.

He really didn't want to think about _that_ right now.

Yet it would always come. When he was feeling this weak, after particularly tough battles he always became this emotional wreck. It wasn't healthy, and certainly not safe. He could feel depression looming in the distance. It would come, it always came, but he very much wished it wouldn't.

He shifted again, and moments later felt the stirring in his stomach.

_Can't evening come a little faster please_? He thought despondently as he reached for the bucket once again.

It would be seven in the evening before Bixlow would return. And Freed was not too proud to admit to himself that he was grateful. The tall man let himself in, and without a word had cleaned up the vomit, brought another glass of water, made some tea and helped Freed sit up. He gently removed the mufflers and ribbon and Freed blinked blearily.

"Hey," Bixlow said softly, putting the items down next to him on coffee table, "You feeling any better yet?"

Freed nodded, finding no energy to form the words.

"Brought some healing salve," he said procuring a white bottle from his pocket. The colours were much dimmer Freed noted, though still bright around the edges, like a luminous glow, "Can I take a look at your eye?"

Ah yes, he'd almost forgotten about that. He nodded again and a breath later felt the large calloused hand pushing away his hair. He heard a light hiss, it obviously didn't look good. Bixlow gently applied the slave to his closed lids with his thumb. Slowly he rubbed it in, the raw skin stinging in protest. Pulling away he dropped the hair, and turned his attention to the ugly mark around Freed's neck. It was black, angry and swollen and seemed to have grown a bit since this morning.

He'd heard of demon leaving their marks. But freed was usually so _careful_.

"Don't know if this will hurt,"

"'S fine,"

Bixlow smiled at the slur. Freed was also usually very well spoken. It always tickled him to see him in such a state. Gently he wiped the cream over the mark, he heard Freed's breath hitch and waited a moment. But when no further protest came he gently rubbed it in. he could feel the tension from his friend. The mark was hurting him, badly if his bulging jaw muscles were anything to go by.

Finally he finished up and Freed's shoulder sagged slightly. To say Bixlow was worried was an understatement. Demon Summoning's never hit him this hard. He'd done one yesterday, and usually within eight hours he was fine.

It was going for twenty four and he still looked terrible.

Speaking of which.

"Did you clear the Rune's yet?" he asked, putting down the salve and handing over the luke-warm tea.

Freed took a sip, "No," he said, and cleared his throat, "Haven't, gotten round to it,"

"Right," he said and stood. They needed to be cleared. A Rune, no matter what they are meant for, is dangerous if left written. Words have power and this is no where more true than with Establishment Magic. He walked up the stairs, leaving the disgruntled and tired Captain in the living room. The door was still ajar, which just showed how out if it Freed was. He always locked, or at least closed it. The door creaked as it swung open.

It was dark inside. Bixlow shifted in the door way, an uncomfortable feeling pushing outwards from the room. He worked with souls, his childhood had been so filled with darkness that he taught himself to see what wasn't there. Now he could see things other people couldn't. Supernatural beings, ghosts, poltergeists and anomalies were all open to him.

When he'd first taught it to himself, it had been a blessing.

Today he called it an annoyance. But a damned handy one at least.

What his supernatural soul eyes were telling him right now was that this room was...

"Dark..." this was the best word he could find to describe it. Bixlow could feel it pressing in from all sides. He could see the darkness. It was moving.

But really that wasn't what had him worried.

Black lettering that shifted on the far wall. That was more worrisome than shifting shadows. Especially when it was in a language he didn't recognize. Watching quietly for a moment he started to back up out of the room. When had he walked in? He was standing in the middle of the scuffed Rune's which were still giving off a faint disjointed glow.

He blinked.

When had they started glowing again?

He was asking too many questions, and getting no answers. The room was possessed, if he was any judge, and he had to get out-

The door slammed shut, sealing him inside.

_Crap_.

* * *

Too much exposition? I certainly hope not XD


	3. Answer

_Yay! Third Chapter! I've got to admit I am a little surprised at how quickly it's writing itself O_o I really hadn't thought I would have had the third chapter out so quickly XD Still I hope it doesn't feel rushed, and if anything is wonky or weird, just lemme know! _

_And a HUGE thanks to all guest reviewers! _

_Also: Still looking for a BETA-Reader ^^ I get overwhelmed with all the profiles int he search engine lol!_

* * *

_Answer_

Freed jumped when he the door slammed. His muscles cramping in pain, but he barely noticed. Like a shot he was up off the coach and charging up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. His body aching in protest. He couldn't hear anything, no shouting. It could be taken well or poorly, depending on what was happening in there. His head was swaying, and he felt nausea again, but he couldn't leave his teammate in there! He grabbed the doorknob. And then quickly let go again, cursing.

It was fire hot. Angry red marks stood out against his skin, welts already forming. Freed looked at the knob. To the naked eye it looked perfectly fine, not red or glowing, as one might think. Demon magic.

"Bixlow!" he called, banging on the door, "Bixlow, answer me!"

Please don't be hurt, he thought desperately, taking off his shirt. Please be alright.

Wrapping the silk garment around his seared hand, he grabbed the handle again. It wouldn't budge. He was straining against something, the metal creaked under the pressure. Smoke curled up from the make-shift glove, it stank of burning fabric. The heat was pressing through, he could feel it, but he didn't let go.

Grabbing with both hands, he held on tight and _turned_.

* * *

It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't being attacked. The room was quiet. The runes still glowing faintly and the lettering still running across the old walls. Bixlow tried to stay as calm as possible. He could hear Freed beyond the door. There was some comfort in that thought at least. If Freed was there then he might still get out of here in one piece. But he couldn't let his guard down just yet. Just because the... thing wasn't attacking now didn't mean it wasn't waiting for some provocation.

He looked down at the Rune's. They were scuffed and written in the magic text that his friend always used. Circular, they ran a spiral outwards and dwindled away about two meters out. Freed always told him that where demons are concerned the Rune is your only protection. He would have to make sure to stay on this patch until he had more information, or Freed managed to break through the door-

He froze.

There it was again. That darkness. He could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. The light just seemed to be making the shadows and darkness worse. It didn't make sense. Light should disband the darkness, hell Runes should be keeping a demon at bay. Yet for some reason he felt more vulnerable inside the Runes.

He shook his head.

Demon Tricks.

"No gonna work," he said loudly, so whatever was in there could hear him, "You're gonna have to do better than that!"

Outwardly he was brave. But inside he was cursing himself for leaving his souls at home. He would never let the demon see this of course. He could see souls as easily as hide his own, and this creature would never see what he was feeling. The shadows seemed to be getting longer, the darkness thicker and the light...

He looked down.

The runes were fading.

When he got out of here, he was going to _kill_ Freed.

* * *

The handle snapped.

Freed cursed viciously. How had he not seen that coming? Tossing the useless piece of metal aside he wiped his sweaty brow with an angry hand. The sickness now really starting to get to him. Shaking his head he turned and pounded back down the stairs, past the living room, down the hall and into the bedroom.

His sword and uniform stood in the corner. He crossed the room, grabbed his sword and ran back out. Holding it fiercely in his left hand he charged back up the stairs and hit the door with his shoulder, leaning on it heavily. His breathing was labored now, the exertion giving him a pounding head ache and turning stomach. Nothing was more tempting at that moment than to simply close his eyes and sleep. But that'd never been his style.

Pushing up from the door, he swayed a moment before regaining his composure. He closed his eyes, concentrated and said;

"Ecriture of Darkness," he opened his eyes, the right one now turned purple and red, "Descimate!"

And swiped his sword.

* * *

The door shattered.

Like a vacuüm in space, the pressure and shadow were sucked clear in one gasping breath, leaving only a small poorly lit room littered with pieces of broken wood and scattered scripts. Bixlow lowered his arms, having covered his head to protect his face against the explosion, and turned.

And caught Freed just before he hit the ground.

Freed was hanging onto him, panting, out of breath and sweating like a pig, "You... okay...?" he panted, trying to stand on his own, but Bixlow wouldn't let go.

"Yeah," he replied, "That was pretty stupid,"

"Couldn't... get... door open," he wheezed.

"Noticed," he said with a grim smile. Then he carefully lowered him to the floor, taking care to avoid the pieces of sharp wood and splinters. Freed didn't fight and Bixlow took that as a sign that his teammate had finally reached a limit.

Now that the room was clear he could sense a lot more from it. For one thing whatever had been left had not been a physical demon, but only an echo of one. Which in turn made him feel like a right fool. He hated when this happens, getting riled up for nothing.

It was hard to discern sometimes especially in a room such as this. Thick with magical power. Many homes and buildings were haunted not by true lost souls but only echoes and reflections of them. The remnants of what they'd once 'ghosts' usually fade with time and can be chased away by simple Holy Artifacts. Demons leave a bit more of a malicious shadow or echo. They can not physically harm you, but they can certainly mess with your head, and certainly make you believe you will die should you step out of a rune circle.

He let out a breath.

Then looked up.

"Freed." his friend turned to him, "What's on the wall?"

There was a long pause. He couldn't see his face, but he could feel the tension steadily rising in the air.

"An answer to a question," Freed finally said, his breath a lot less labored.

"What was the question?"

Another pause. He heard the shifting and turned just in time to see Freed stand up stiffly, using his sword as a prop-up. He was favouring his right hand he noted.

"I asked;" he said once he was standing; "Why am I not strong enough to control you?"

The tension was almost tangible now.

"And what was his answer?"

Freed came to stand next to him. The words written in shadow stared back at them, dripping still with malicious power. He lifted his right hand, blistered and red and read the words as they appeared on the wall;

"_I will show you_,"

There was a long silence as they both took this in. Bixlow chewed the inside of his cheek, tilted his head left, sighed, raised his right hand...

And promptly slapped Freed upside the head.

"Owowowowowow!" Freed groaned and hissed, his sword clattering to the floor as he grabbed his head in both hands, bending forwards in agony. Bixlow watched him for a moment, then crossed his arms;

"You're an idiot,"

Freed's only response was a heartfelt little groan.

* * *

That ending, well um... it just kinda happened? Damn you Bixlow!


	4. Finding Sunshine

**_A/N I uploaded the wrong file! O_o_**

_I am so sorry about that! I usually copy paste, and this time I didn't and just look what happened! This was the original chapter that was supposed to be posted. The other one was more my second final draught. I am terribly sorry. I hope it doesn't ruin the story too much! But thank you to everyone who are still reviewing and reading, and again; soooo sorry!_

* * *

_Finding Sunshine  
_

It always amazed him how easily the world moved on as if nothing had happened. No matter how terrible a tragedy, or how horrible the accident, everyone just went on enjoying life and turned away from the troubles to bask in the seemingly endless sunshine. In some ways it disturbed him. He could see souls, he could see the sorrow, sadness and depression of the people, and the burning need to be seen. To be noticed and cared for. So when the Guild was this happy, and their own lives so troubled, it never sat well with him. It was one of the reasons Bixlow never stayed in the Guild long. He needed tangible proof sometimes that people were seen, that they were being cared for. That souls were not this oblivious to the suffering of others, despite everyone wanting to enjoy the sun.

Two days had passed since the incident in the room, and during that time Freed had stayed at home to try to recuperate. The fact that it was taking so long was already sending red flags up in Bixlow's head, but he tried not to show it.

The Guild was bustling and busy. Natsu and Gray were bickering, Erza was keeping them from destroying everything again, Juvia was cheering Gray on, and the rest were going about their daily lives. Drinking, laughing and chatting the day away. An average day in an otherwise above average Guild. Bixlow was sitting at the table with Evergreen and Laxus. He was on his nerves, not that they would be able to tell. But still. His heart was pounding and his head ached terribly. It was a combination of stress, and nerves that went 'twang' every time something was dropped. This thing with Freed it was affecting him more than he could say.

It wouldn't do to worry everyone else as well, no matter how worried _he_ was. Still, he wished he could tell them. Just so their souls would reflect his own dark mood. He wanted them to know and care, to see what was happening and show Freed that he wasn't entirely alone. But that was a struggle and a battle he knew he would never win. With he mindset of his companion and the opinion of the Guild of him, it did not mix well. Whenever Freed entered the guild he could see numerous souls darken considerably. Never in his life would he tell Freed this, but he knew what they thought of him.

Seems like the Battle of Fairy Tail still stung more than they were letting on.

"Freed better yet?" Laxus asked as he took off his headphones, bringing Bixlow out of his thoughts. He had told Laxus that Freed had contracted a pretty contagious stomach virus and had to be left alone until he was completely free of it. He'd believed it without question. Laxus was powerful and strong, but a little dense and oblivious sometimes, which in this case was a godsend.

"Yeah, he looked better yesterday, when we were there," he was sprawled on the bench, legs crossed and arms folded under his head, watching his souls floating above him. He wasn't lying, Freed had looked better and even said he'd try to make an appearance in the Guild today. If Freed set his mind at something chances were it was going to happen. Which could be a good or bad thing, depending on the situation.

"Were there! Were there!" the souls mimicked.

"Good," Laxus said, "Go get him, we're doing a mission on Friday and I want to go over the plans with you lot,"

Ice ran through his veins. The shock effectively muting him for a good three seconds. Friday? That was in three days time! He gawked like a fish, staring at the ceiling before finally coming to his senses, "Yeah, sure" he said, his voice barely trembling, and rose up from to sit cross-legged on the bench. "Be right back,"

"I'll come with!" Evergreen piped, snapping her fan shut, "My legs are cramping, and I want to ask him what he thinks about my new outfit,"

Bixlow grinned at her. He liked Evergreen, no matter what other people might think of her attitude and manner. She was like family, the little sister they all looked out for, and the one they all loved without prejudice. She could be annoying, and she could be a whiny bitch sometimes when she was in a mood. But then again Bixlow could be a bastard, Freed could be s a rigid prude and Laxus was an arrogant asshole. They made a twisted little group, but a pretty good family, if he was any judge.

"I'll rather go alone," he said as he stretched his arms, "You know how he gets Ever,"

Evergreen slumped back in her chair, pouting, "But I just bought this dress," she folded her arms with a huff, and effectively made the perfect picture of a ten-year old girl who wasn't getting her way. Laxus hid a smile, "He has the best taste in this group!"

Bixlow laughed, his souls echoing in unison, "I'll give ya that Ever," he said, "But let me go get him. It won't take long,"he tiled his head, "Promise,"

And just like that she sighed unfolded her arms and picked up her fan. It was all just a show at the end of the day. He knew she would act like a three-year old and she knew he would tell her to stay. And they both knew that she would listen. "Oh fine," she said peeking up at him from behind the frills, "But don't take too long, you hear?"

He chuckled, "I won't!" he waved at her over his shoulder as he walked out. Evergreen was something special. Not many of the other Guild members knew just how special exactly. On the first day he'd found out Freed had been Summoning he had wanted to call Ever in. She was good in keeping them happy and calm, and she had this strong mother side to her that made them feel both terrified and warm. When it came to fighting they kept her safe, when it came to the aftermath she helped heal them in turn. She was good for them.

But Freed had declined.

His mark had spread about halfway down his neck mere minutes after blasting through the door, almost reaching his collarbone. It had been a startling discovery and Bixlow had insisted they get some help before it spread all the way down.

But Freed had held out. He wanted to figure it out on his own before he asked for help. Bixlow had pointed out that at the rate that thing was growing, chances were he wasn't going to be able to even _get_ help in a few days.

Still, Freed had said no. Arguing that he knew what he was dealing with, Dark Mages were very rare and even if they could find someone, chances that they could do anything was naught. As very few were on the level that Freed was.

Damn him and his logic!

And now they had a mission, and Freed was in no condition to do one. He chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. He hoped they figured something out before then.

* * *

Bixlow found Freed coming down the street, dressed and looking better. To say he was relieved didn't even cover it, though he did note the sash around his neck was a little higher up than usual. But he didn't let it bother him for now. He walked up to him, and grinned. His babies twirling around him. When Freed spotted the large man he smiled softly. Bixlow had been a great help during the past few days. Cravings were also an integral part of post-summoning, and one he despised just as much. But Bixlow had made sure to keep his fridge stocked-up with an array of candy-bars, pickles, peanut-butter and the all important Ice-Cream. It made the whole process much less stressful and this gave Freed a chance to study up and find information regarding his situation.

He made a note to thank his friend properly when he got the chance.

"Good morning, Bixlow," the Captain greeted with a curt nod.

Bixlow snorted lightly, and grinned letting his tongue hang out. A gesture more of relief than teasing, "You're looking better!"

"Better! Better!" his five souls called.

"I'm feeling better," he replied, walking past him. Bixlow easily fell in step beside him, and a comfortable silence settled between them. Despite the looming threat Freed had to overcome in the next few days, it was a comfort for both to know they had each other and Evergreen to count on. They'd been through so much in their time together that any danger was easily forgotten in favour of simply enjoying each others company. When it came down to it, it was all they had really.

"Laxus has a mission for us," Bixlow said, knowing he had to get this over with as quick as possible.

There was a heavy pause. "Indeed?"

"Yeah," he looked up at the sky, his five souls spinning around him in the air, playing a game of tag, "It's on Friday so you have some time,"

Another stiff silence followed. Bixlow risked a glance through his mask, and sure enough Freed was frowning heavily. His face contorted into the perfect picture of concentration. He held back a sigh.

"Tag! Tag!" he looked up when Peppe yelled, rushing off when Pappa turned to chase him. The others giggled keeping just out of reach. He watched them with a faint smile. He'd often wondered how his life would be without his Souls, and never once had he been able to come up with a believable scenario. They were so a part of him that he could never truly be rid of them. Evergreen sometimes teased that should he be parted from his 'babies' for longer than a week, he'd surely just die from depression. Bixlow never laughed when she said this.

"Levy's been asking for you," he said, breaking the silence and attempting to change the subject.

Freed sighed.

"You did promise her," he said in a reprimanding tone, "Almost a week ago now,"

"I know, I know," he said coming to a stop in the street. He looked out over the river, watching the boatmen in thought, "I just can't help her with her own magic now," he touched the silk sash around his neck. "It'll have to keep until I can do it properly," His hand rubbed up and down. Bixlow watched him for a moment.

"That thing still spreading?" he moved closer to see if he could find any trace of the mark. But the silk garment hid it well. He still wanted to call in some form of outside help, but he would respect Freed's wishes for now.

"Yes," he lowered his hand, "But much, much slower. I think when I used my magic it aggravated it in some way,"

Bixlow looked at him seriously, then he grabbed his upper arm and turned him so he could look him in the eye. Freed didn't struggle and met his gaze head on. He could feel Bixlow searching him with his soul eyes. The faint glow of green that spilled through the groves in his helmet not the only clue he had to what the Seith Mage was doing.

He liked Bixlow, but his soul eyes always unnerved him in some way. That ability to see straight through your defences and into your very being.

It was like being violated in the worst way possible.

But he wouldn't flinch. He knew why Bixlow was doing this. He needed to ease his own worries, to make sure that Freed was still Freed. No matter how much it unnerved or unsettled him, he could not deny his friend his own peace of mind.

Finally he released him.

"It's changing your soul,"

Freed lowered his gaze. This was something he already knew.

"You' wanna tell me what's going on,"

It wasn't a question. Bixlow could see straight through him (literally) and he should already have an idea about what was happening. But Freed set his jaw and looked him straight in the eye again.

"I'm not sure," he said honestly, "But I might have an idea. Still, I need to confirm it,"

Bixlow frowned for a moment, but realization soon dawned.

"The Watchers?"

Freed nodded, trying to ignore the penetrating stare.

Bixlow glared at him. He hated those things. They were creatures from the Underworld with little to no fighting ability, and they spent their lives in areas filled with demons or demon traffic and simply watched. Gaining knowledge and information. To a summoner they were a godsend, a rare and precious thing that enabled them to understand a lot about their forms and the underworld in general. But by default to demons they were a nuisance and a danger. The Watchers learn, and see, and sell their information to Summoners. Giving an edge to the world of the living and often making a demon suffer and struggle to find bonds ad pacts that will give them better benefits. They were a relief, a foothold to any summoner.

Bixlow didn't have a problem with that, but their prices were high and often irrational. Sometimes even deadly. And should a demon find a Summoner conversing with them it could spell a lot of trouble for that Mage. In short he hated them not for what they did, but for their risks.

"That's a big fuckin' risk," Bixlow said, the first ounce of true annoyance and bitterness in his voice since the beginning of this ordeal, "If using your magic aggravates that thing then calling on those monsters will sure as hell put a strain on you Freed,"

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," he looked away from him again, "Right now I can't use magic, which means I am essentially useless to Laxus," he turned away from him. Bixlow was in a poor mood, and he could be quite malicious when he was in such a state. The five souls were floating silently now, sensing their masters dark mood.

"That's why I need to sort this out as quickly as possible,"

A long heavy silence followed. One in which Bixlow took little time to come to a decision. His frown relaxed into a wide grin and he stalked closer. With little ceremony he threw his arm around the stiff Captain, making the man start slightly and turn to look at him with a frown.

"I hear you," he said, his souls floating closer, as if sharing in on a secret, "But don't forget I'm here too, and I wanna help you get better as quick as possible, kay?"

"Possible! Possible!" his souls echoed.

Freed stared at him, his mouth parted and eyes wide. But his face soon relaxed into a genuine and warm smile. It was more of a Thank You than if he'd said those words out loud, and Bixlow returned the smile with a chuckle. Then he stuck out his tongue and released him, Freed shoving him away playfully. His souls spun around him happily as he walked down he road, seemingly without a care in the world.

"Now let's get back to the Guild!" he called, "We've got three days to sort out this mess before our mission with Laxus, and besides," and here he smiled in earnest, "They've missed you over there,"

"I doubt that," Freed finally said, which prompted Bixlow to look over his shoulder. He was smiling again, but that tone of voice was enough to make him pause. That heavy doubt mixed with acceptance. Bixlow could stand beside Freed, he could fight those real demons tooth and claw, and bring those creatures to their knees should they dare harm him. But his inner demons, the ones of past and present, of doubts, fears and insecurities were battles Freed had to fight on his own. It wasn't that Bixlow didn't want to help, but Freed never reached out to any of them when it came to personal issues, despite having so many of them.

They walked side by side in silence. Freed straining a stiff smile and Bixlow trying to act calm, and both trying to forget the looming threat on the horizon. At least for the time being. For now they'll just soak up the sunshine.

* * *

That's better! XD And again sorry : (


	5. The Watchers

_**A/N PLEASE NOTE! A few days after I posted the fourth chapter I replaced it with another one, because I had uploaded the wrong file. For those who haven't reread it please take a moment to do so. There isn't a lot that's changed. It's just a bit more in depth. I deeply apologize for the mistake, and I hope it doesn't spoil the story.**_

_Also thank you to all reviewers, and sorry for the wait! This chapter I had some trouble with. The ending was fine. But the opening just didn't want to work. I feel like I added too much, and it might be a bit over done and cluttered (and even boring on some parts) So by all means let me know what you think!_

* * *

The Watcher

_He's running._

_He feels alone, abandoned as the darkness chases him through the forest. Claiming patches of sunlight that managed to filter through the dry leaves. The ground is heavy, hard and slows him down. But the shadows only run faster, rushing to close in around him, and tearing the earth apart, furiously destroying trees._

_They want him._

_He runs, keeping his eyes on the small flicker of light in the distance. That speck in the shape of something he recognises but doesn't wholly remember. Only the memory of safety pushes him onwards to that small flicker of hope. But he knows even before the shadows rush past him, even before they block the way to his only hope. He knows he can't do it._

_Not alone._

_The shadows claim him in a thunderous roar._

A broken cry tears him from his dreams, and moments later he hits the floor in a heap of silk sheets and flailing limbs. The small green light flickers, shifting the shadows against the wall. Freed stays still for a moment. He is sweating and shivering, and he can feel the tears welling up on the corners of his eyes, and hastily forces them away. It will only make him feel worse if he cries now.

Slowly he untangled himself and stands up. His legs still shaking from adrenaline and fear that pump through him as he staggers to the en suit bathroom. He leans his hands on the sink and takes deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. Nightmares.

Ever since he'd been a boy they've haunted him. Night after terrifying night he'd fight through them. They're demonic images and whispers had driven him insane to the point where he'd almost fallen completely into darkness.

Only later would he learn from Laxus' father that it was part of the process. Part of becoming a powerful Dark Mage. And he showed him how to keep those demons at bay.

"E_motionless_," he'd said, "_The key to being a good Dark Mage is to keep your emotions at bay. Demons, they feed on them you see. If you are unstable; scared, angry or depressed they gain a foothold in your soul, and once they have that it can be impossible to push them back_"

So he'd tried to stay emotionless, detached and cold. And for a time they stayed clear of him. But being a recluse was hard, and Freed had quickly learned how lonely a Dark Mage's life truly was. They could not have true romantic bonds or powerful friendships. As these could be used against them by the demons they sought to control. Yet despite this Freed found himself caring for his team mates and leader. He fought hard to keep the demons at bay to ensure he could always enjoys his teams company. But as a result the nightmares returned. Usually when that happened he drank pills, or cast Runes. The only sure way for a good night's sleep. It worked well, and not even his team knew of his nightly terrors. But recently...

The reflection staring back at him looked haggard and tired. The dark circles around his eyes hard proof of his on going insomnia. He sighed bitterly and leaned his head against the mirror. Today was Thursday (barely at 2 am), the last day before the mission, and he wasn't any closer to finding a Watcher he could use.

The room was dark, and he quickly turned on the lights. Books lay scattered on the floor. Papers showing diagrams, calculations and written Runes were filtered in and spread even further across the room. In the centre there were old artifacts and strange measuring tools tossed on a large and worn map. The material thick and too supple for ordinary leather...

"Damn it all," he muttered before sitting down. The large map stretched out before him. He picked up a heavy book and started to read. Eyes hazy and body tired he forced himself to concentrate. He didn't have a lot of time anymore. And finding a Watcher was not as easy as one might think.

He scratches at his open chest. The mark was really starting to annoy him of late.

Essentially there were hundreds of thousands of places in the underworld and thus thousands of Watchers. Who had no names, or identity or anyway to distinguish one from the other. It was self-preservation. No demon could know what or who they were.

So in order to find one, one had to think of exactly _where_ they might be instead of _what_ they were. It was like trying to find a species of flower in a orchid the size of Magnolia. You know where it might grow, but you have no idea what it looks like or even what it's called, and chances are it was growing in several different areas, and liked to change colour. And species.

It was all a question of geography and certain hot spots where you might be lucky to grab one.

He turned a page, read for a few moments and sighed. Tossing the book to his right, he grabbed another ledger. Black and thick and rimmed with shimmering red stones.

Freed knew he needed one close to a gate. Only problems was there were sixteen gates in the underworld, and demons constantly went through them. They had no rhyme nor reason that the living world really could discern. Only that demons went through and men who crossed them died. So first he needed to figure out which gate he might have used, then decide which one is the most likely from those, and then summon a Watcher based on that geographical location and _hope_ there was one.

He frowned, picked up a pen and made a note on a well used notebook.

Thus far he had narrowed it down to three gates. The gate of Ice, the gate of Judgement and the gate of Sound. Each one completely different from the other. He'd chosen each according to the characteristics the demon had shown. Ice for the cold he'd felt. Sound for the soundless way in which it spoke, and finally judgement.

_'I will show you,_'

He shivered.

Currently he was searching the books to see if he could find anything more about each gate, and in turn make a calculated guess to where the Watcher might be and where the demon went through.

It was a risk. Last night he'd tested it, and sure enough after using just an ounce of his magic, the mark had spread faster.

It was now midway down his chest, already consuming his shoulder and back. He knew why it wasn't stretching to his face just yet. His life-point, or anchor as some called it, was keeping him safe for now. preventing the demon from taking over completely. Another thing Laxus' father had taught him before he left. When dealing with powerful demons, use powerful protection. And Freed's life-point was very powerful.

As long as it didn't break.

The lights flickers. The shadows shifted. Freed turned a page.

* * *

Three hours later found him sprawled on his back and staring at the ceiling. He was close. He knew he was close. But he needed to be 100 percent sure, not just 99.9. Standing up he swayed a bit before going to stand on the center of the map. It was large, easily covering almost the entirety of the floor. And this was only one part of it. Riddled with landmarks written in a strange text it was a map of a land which geography was about as stable as a house of cards in a landrover driving over dirt roads.

Mountain tops were built wrong, thick at the top, thin in the middle and again thick at a crumbling base. Small wooden bridges the length of a city hung precariously between the canyons who in turn seemed to be leaning. And there was no ten square miles that didn't have some crevasse, canyon or giant pit filled with lava or monsters. And it kept changing.

The ink was alive. Areas crumbled away into the water surrounding it, sometimes a mountain top lifted itself up from beneath the earth to destroy a small holding. Areas exploded in blazing fires, before being consumed by lava, titanic boulders rushing past to destroy other parts of landscape. The world was constantly changing, living, chaotic and mad. The world of demons.

On this map there were four gates. Two of them; The Gate of Judgment and Ice, were ones that had caught his interest. He had found the spell. Now he just had to use it. Taking a deep breath Freed closed his eyes and opened his palms, facing downwards. He mumbled a few words, the map rippled once with a silent boom of purple magic.

He opened his eyes.

None of the Gates were glowing.

Freed smiled and sat down, now he was 100 percent sure.

Then the smile faded as the black mark steadily spread past his chest, and reached his stomach.

* * *

The forest was beautiful this time of year. The sheer life that just seemed to buzz in the very air. It was both stunning, and somewhat calming. Despite the troubles of the Guild and the madness of the world out there, in here life continued on its existence, unconcerned with darkness and demons. Leaving no judgement to those who ventured inside.

Though admittedly today it might be different. Freed pushed through the underbrush, listening to the bird as they swept past on the breeze. The only element ruining the moment was the pungent stench that hung in the air.

A carcass.

It was a raccoon, one that probably died of old age if the broken teeth were anything to go by. The maggots were already feasting on it. Its belly swollen and pregnant with more ready to be birthed. Freed stalked closer, calm and relaxed and knelt in front of the dead animal. It reeked, but he wasn't phased. Demons were summoned by Rune circles and chants. The Watchers, who were not bound to the Underworld, worked a little differently.

You just needed something dead, and good Ecriture knowledge to call one.

Drawing his blade he held it before him, closed his eyes and said;

"Ecriture of Darkness," a pause and then, "Lime stone, Whispered Grey, Singing Metal, Gate,"

It sliced the air and a Rune slammed into the raccoon. For a moment nothing happened then the carcass stirred. The legs started to shake, then the rest of the body as if caught in a violent seizure. The creature struggled, the maggots wriggling in fear as their feast seemed to be not as dead as they'd thought. Finally it settled, a milky white eye rolled in its sticky socket, glowing faintly red.

Freed didn't rise, he looked the raccoon in the eye when it spoke.

"Freed Justine," its voice was cracked and hoarse, working against the torn vocal chords of the raccoon, "You summon the Watcher of the Sound Gate, for what purpose?"

"Information," he replied, speaking to the dead raccoon as if there was nothing wrong with it. He'd gotten used to this from a very young age. Often needing to kill an animal so he would be able to call them at a later date. Evergreen hated when he called them, and Laxus had made it clear he never wanted to see it again. Bixlow would sometimes accompany him. But Freed had sensed the discomfort from his friend, and had stopped asking him to come with.

Bixlow had looked pretty relieved.

"I need to know more of the demon I summoned on the second moon of the third week,"

Freed could feel his heart hammering in his chest. If the creature told him he did not know the demon, then he would have to count his losses and start over. Which he did not have the time to do.

It wheezed, the mouth chewing thoughtfully. One of its legs were broken, jutting strangely in the wrong position. It shifted. "And you will have your answers," it said, and Freed breathed a sigh of relief, "But first payment."

Freed nodded, "What do you wish to take?"

"I see the darkening of your soul," it said, "I see the blackness of it as it consumes you. Mixing the dark life source with your own," a purple tongue licked the dry lips, "I wish to taste it,"

"Sharing of blood is forbidden-"

"I am not bound by the rules of your realms or this one!" it snapped, the body shaking viciously from the effort, "Give me what I ask, or your answer will not be given!"

Freed hesitated. The Watcher was right. They were not bound by the laws that governed the Underworld, nor the ones of Earthrealm. But sharing of blood was dangerous. It could be used against the mage, or even be shared to the demons and then Freed would be in far more trouble than he could handle. At the same time Watchers hated Demons so chances that the creature would go to one was very small. And the price for his answer was not very steep.

Slowly he drew his sword, held it to his palm and sliced. Blood slipped down his arm, the milky eyes of the Watcher widened, the wheezing breath quickening. Freed's nose wrinkled at the stinging sensation before holding it over the raccoon's mouth. The blood trickled into the rotting jaws, and a purple tongue lapped it up greedily. Satisfied the creature swallowed before letting its breath calm down.

"Three questions you have, and one you have already asked," the Watcher said. He paused and then continued, "He was not who you thought, not a mere Six circle creature form the first realm. The demon you summoned is much more powerful, a tenth circle. And has chosen you as his vessel,"

Freed swallowed stiffly. He had thought as much. The moment the mark had started spreading he knew that thing was possessing him. But a level ten? He'd never even seen one before! He can't ever recall anyone actually controlling one of those. Not even the most powerful Dark Mages in history had managed it. The closest anyone had ever got was a level eight.

He could feel the beginnings of fear cloud his judgement, but he couldn't let the Watcher see his worry. So forcing down the terror he asked his second question instead. "Why choose me?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm, "I am not a prime vessel, and I know of much more powerful Dark Mages than I,"

"You are not as wise to their tricks as the elders, but are still as powerful as they are," the raccoon shifted, eyeing the still dripping hand, "You are an interesting prospect to the Underworld Freed Justine. I am surprised this has not happened sooner,"

Freed did not grace that with an answer. He already knew this.

Then he asked to confirm the demons name.

"More," the raccoon said, opening its mouth. Freed obliged.

The mouth worked, savoring the taste. Then said a word impossible to pronounce.

He nodded. When nothing else came he knew the Watcher would be returning soon. He had gotten his answers, and had asked his three questions. "Thank you," he said before rising and turning to leave.

"Wait," Freed stopped and frowned at the creature, "For giving me so much of your life source, I will offer you advice," the raccoon wheezed and Freed waited patiently, "Drag the demon from your body before it consumes you entirely. Then it will not be at full power,"

There was a long heavy pause. They stared at each other and then eventually Freed ventured;

"How do I know I can trust you?"

The Raccoon chuckled, "You can't, Freed Justine. But you can trust me in hating the demons for their purge on us. For killing us." the voice trembled with rage. He paused taking a deep breath, maggots spluttered from his nose, "I am one of the eldest, and remember it well. I have no care for them,"

He eyed the wheezing raccoon for a moment longer. Then softly nodded, "I thank you for the advice. But do not think I trust you,"

It wheezed another laugh, "I would be disappointed... if.. you... di..d" and the body stilled, the glow disappeared from the eyes and all was quiet. Freed stood still. The birds still chirped in the sky. Squirrels ran about the forest floor and all seemed at peace. He waited for another few minutes before turning and walking back the way he'd come, stiffly. His upper arms and legs had gone numb, he can only assume the mark had spread even further.

But he had gotten his answers. It had taken time but he knew what he had to do, if he was to listen to the Watcher. Drag the demon from his body. Basically exorcise it. For that he would need help, and help wasn't something readily available to Dark Mages. Sighing bitterly he sucked at his hand and continued down the path, heading for the Guild, and Bixlow. And trying not to fall asleep on the way there.

When Freed had gone she finally let out a breath. She had come looking for him but had hidden by the trees when she saw him speaking to a dead Raccoon. She hadn't heard much but she did see him feeding it blood. His blood. Her heart pounded in her chest. The uncontrollable fear coiling through her like a mad snake.

Levy slid down the tree and let the tears fall.

* * *

Yay!


	6. Rainfall Musings

_A/N: I have to admit I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. I love writing about rain XD Thank you to everyone who is still reading and reviewing! The story will be picking up the pace in the next two or so chapters. Its growing bigger and bigger as I write. Which is good... I hope. _

_Well, Enjoy!_

* * *

_Rain Musings_

The people bustled in the streets, Levy pushed and shoved her way through without seeming impolite. It was surprisingly busy this time of day.

She wasn't an unreasonable person she felt. All things considered she was a decently level-headed girl. Not that she felt she was anything special. But then again, it was hard to deny what was right in front of your eyes. And what was right in front of her was simple; Freed was planning something. There couldn't be any other explanation. He was a Dark Mage after all and everyone knew eventually they all turned evil. They always do.

Levy turned a corner, leaving the busy streets behind. The clouds were gathering over head, it would rain soon. But she barely noticed the rumbling skies. Her eyes were set on the Guild.

Perhaps it was unfair to judge him so harshly. But everyone knew what a fine line a summoners walked with their magic. The ease in which they fell into madness was terrifyingly simple. So in reality, it might not even be his fault. Freed had been doing Dark Magic... for well a long time if his abilities were anything to go on. And that meant the chances of him becoming a slave to the Dark Magic was great. Just like Laxus' father. Her eyes burned with determination. Fairy Tail had been hurt by both of them, and Freed had tired to kill Elfman. She would not stand by and let that happen again.

The small dirt road led up to the Guild hall, she panted as she scrambled up the slope. Her heart was pounding terribly. But not from exertion.

When she entered the Guild she felt another gripping fear breed inside her. Her friends and guild mates were laughing and enjoying the cool day. They were happy, they were content. And utterly oblivious.

With the knowledge she had she suddenly felt a wave of responsibility for all the lives in the hall. What if Freed did something today? What if he tried to hurt someone right now? Her eyes scanned the hall, but could not see him anywhere. Bixlow was close by with Evergreen laughing at some or other joke and another fear entered her heart. What if they were working together again?

Her eyes hardened.

Then the guild would just have to defeat them again.

"Hey Levy-chan!"

She jumped out of her skin.

Lucy bounced closer, her little plume walking next to her, "You okay?" she asked frowning.

"Y-yeah," Levy hesitated. Out of all the people in the Guild Lucy was probably the only one she trusted implicitly. Not even Jet did she trust more. Lucy was just that; trustworthy despite her odd personality quirks.

"Can we talk?" Levy asked, glancing at the Raijinshu. Bixlow look up, smiled a tongue grin and waved at her. She swallowed and gave a small smile in turn before grabbing Lucy and dragging her out of the Guild.

"Hey! Levy-chan" Lucy cried, her plume wobbling after her, "You can just ask you know?"

When they were outside Levy released her and let out a heavy breath. Another faint rumble of thunder called across the skies. The rain would be here soon.

"Levy?"

She looked up at Lucy who was frowning and looking very worried. She felt a twang of guilt for that. It hadn't been her intention to make her friend worry. But if what she thought was true then there was a lot more to worry about than worrying Lucy. She shook her head. She was thinking in circles.

"I saw something strange today," she started, unsure how exactly to explain it all and make Lucy understand what a danger this situation might be. Without sounding accusing of Freed and his magic. That would be unfair.

"I bet," Lucy said, still worried but curiosity now peeking through, "What happened Levy?"

It took a while but eventually she got her words right. The story was simple enough; she'd gone looking for Freed hoping to ask him if he would be available after his missions with Laxus. He was one of the best Establishment Mages in Magnolia and her own magic would certainly benefit from his tutoring. But when she found him she felt she couldn't exactly interrupt.

Lucy listened, her own frown turning deeper and deeper as the story progressed, and finally shot up when Levy told her about the blood. Finally when she was done Lucy said;

"You should tell the Master,"

Levy chewed her bottom lip, uncertain.

It was sensible. Tell the Master and let him sort it out. But what if she was wrong? What if Freed wasn't planning anything at all? As a researcher and mage she knew she had to have all her facts straight before simply jumping to conclusions. She needed proof.

"I first want to have a look inside his house,"

"Eh!?"

"If we can find something tangible, something definitely ominous or dangerous" she said ignoring her reaction, "Then Master can react with certainty. But..." the skies rumbled once again, "Right now he can talk himself out of it, and he won't be caught as easily a second time,"

There was a long silence, broken only by the faint murmuring of the clouds. Lucy turned and looked over the town, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then she sighed.

"What do you want to do?"

Levy let out a breath she hadn't even realized she was holding, and smiled.

"Thank you Lucy,"

Lucy just nodded. Her expression still uncertain.

* * *

_In th event of becoming possessed, there are two sure ways to exorcise a demon. _

_The first and most common is the Holy Exorcism. In which the exorcism is performed by a Priest.. There is no magic used, and this will work on lower type demons. Higher class demons have proved quite resilient against this form of extraction. The highest ever exorcised using this method was B-class Level four._

_The Second is the Pentagram Exorcism. Magic is used to create a pentagram that literately pulls the demon from the body. This is a much more certain way of dealing with possession. Thus far it has always worked, but the method is extremely dangerous as-_

A drop of water blurred the words. Freed wiped it away.

_- as this usually results in-_

Another. He wiped it away again, but then three more fell and then five. And then it began to rain.

Freed blinked and looked up at the sky. The clouds were dense and dark, the rain fell like a monsoon, as if it would never stop. A few people scrambled to get out of the downpour, a thin cat streaked across the road, jumping up over a low fence and running down the alley, grey fur drenched and soggy. He barely noticed this.

Closing the book he stuffed it into his bag, and then turned back to the sky. Since he'd been a boy he'd always loved the rain. The farm he'd grown up on rarely got any, but when it did the thunder would roar and the lightning would tear up the heavens. Here the rain fell so politely. But it was nevertheless still a beautiful sight.

It reminded him of cold evenings, small cups of hot chocolate and stories of dragons. Pockets of joy, peace and freedom, and most of all, the first day he came upon Fairy Tail.

He smiled softly.

The rain continued to pour, dripping down his collar, and drenching him to the bone. The wind was picking up.

He never would have thought to stay in the Guild truth be told. Having been thirsty he'd gone in to ask them to fill his flask, and the next thing he knew he was the newest member. He could never help but wonder why they'd accepted him. Maybe Master had seen something in him, something good and worth saving. Or perhaps he had taken pity on a thirteen year old who had nothing to his name except for a few books and some clothes. Fairy Tail liked sad stories. Most of the members there had a story or two, some more tragic than the last.

Gray and Erza were good examples.

He gave the sky another long look before finally starting down the path again. His boots clapped on the cobblestones, spraying splashes of water. The rain continued to fall, rushing to wash the world clean.

By far his favorite memory in the rain was the meeting of Bixlow.

Mere hours after he'd joined the guild, this strange boy had waltzed up to him and asked; "Why are you so dark?" Freed hadn't understood at all, and had told the boy as such. "Your soul," he'd replied. The two dolls echoing his words in choir. "It's dark, and pretty lonely," Again Freed had been at a loss, and decided to ignore him. But the boy wasn't deterred, instead he plonked down next to him and introduced himself as Bixlow. And thus for the next few months he followed him everywhere. Joking with him, talking with him and even defending him should the need arise.

Freed had been at a loss as to what to do about him. He'd never even had any friends, and had no idea how to handle the situation. But as time passed he got used to the over boisterous boy and eventually even enjoyed hanging out with him. The hurt from his past and uncertainty of his future just seemed to fade into the happy grin and smile of his new friend.

It would be over a year later, and after the addition of Evergreen that Bixlow would mention his soul again;

"It looks better," Bixlow had said, "It looks lighter and happier. Guess it's finally healing"

And Freed would realize only at that point in time that his soul had _needed_ healing. From darkness and from tragedy, loss and hurt. And that he _was_ feeling lighter, and certainly happier. Bixlow had pulled him from a darkness he hadn't even known was consuming him. Evergreen hadn't understood the significance of it, and Bixlow wouldn't explain it to her but it didn't matter. Freed, a Dark Mage and a demon summoner had managed to find not only one but two whole friends to call his own.

This was the reason he trusted them so. They'd had no prejudice on his magic, and no judgement on his past. He smiled faintly. He would trust them with his life-

Lightning flashed. Cold fear ran up his spine. His head whipped around just as it faded. Green hair danced about in the rain and wind. The road was deserted. Only the sound of drops on cobblestone and rooftops met him.

For a moment, and just for a moment he was certain he had seen something. Something pale holding a blade, or weapon.

Something evil.

Freed stepped back, watching the alley ways in fear. Despite popular belief not all demons live in the Underworld. Some are brought here as punishment by the Eldars. Banished for breaking rules, for trying to overthrow the leaders of the demons. For many things. But they are always sent here. They wander and possess and bring sorrow and hurt wherever they go. And they are drawn to demon holders. Especially vulnerable ones.

He took another step backwards.

Just when he'd been feeling safe, just when he'd found a form of happiness something found him.

For the first time since the summoning he felt anger push up. Anger at himself for ever calling that thing. His own lust for power had brought this down on him.

He grit his teeth then turned around and headed up the path at a faster pace. He turned a corner, the road now muddy and slick as he trudged up to Fairy Tail. This was why Summoners rarely had friends. They _could_ have them, and certainly enjoy them for many, many years. But there will always come a time when a Demon will find you. When they will grab a hold of you, link to you and destroy your small little world.

When they will kill everything you hold dear.

Freed shook his head. It might have been a trick. "Yes", he said softly, "just a trick of the light coupled with my paranoia and fear,"

The words sounded hollow to him.

He reached the Guild, drenched and wet. The sounds of laughter and merriment filtered through the door, along with the smell of booze and drink. He took a moment to gather himself. The strain on his body was getting to him, he was exhausted and he needed to get this over with as soon as possible. He opened the Guild doors.

A few guild members greeted him.

Dark Mages were loners for good reason. They couldn't afford to have a weakness such as friends. But this demon was powerful, it was going to destroy him if he didn't exorcise it. Still he had to ask himself the question;

Bixlow waved him over, his souls rushed to greet him. Freed smiled at them.

Was he prepared to risk their lives to save his own?

He touched Peppe lightly, feeling his smile slide away.

_No_, he thought sadly, _I'd die before allowing any harm to befall them_.

And he realized as he petted the small totem, that at the end of this, it might have to come to that.

* * *

Laxus in the next chapter! I'm sorry for taking so long to get to him. I just need to establish a bit before he can work his magic :3


	7. A Little Pain

_A/N: Okay, there is a reason this one took as long as it did. First off RL is a pain in the butt. Secondly I really had trouble moving the plot forward with this one. I don;t know why but the idea was to bring in Laxus and it ended up being an exploratory piece for Bixlow. Go figure. I don't know if it works. By all means let me know. There's a lot of exposition here (again) but I hope you all get some enjoyment out of it at least._

_Thanks to everyone who was so patient with this. Especially Midor the Matchmaker. Who started poking me to get a new chapter up and giving me some incentive to keep writing._

_So thanks Midori!_

_Thank yous and apologies out of the way; on with the story!_

* * *

_A Little Pain_

The rain continued to fall. Droves and droves of marching drops stamped on the cobble stones and rooftops, the sheets of icy water seemed to fall for an eternity. Chasing everyone indoors to warm beds, coffee and burning hearths. The warm fire in Freed's home was a welcome addition, and Bixlow was taking advantage. He lay stretched out, arms crossed behind his head, on the mat in front of the hearth. His souls huddled close by, enjoying the heat from the crackling fire.

A book hit the coffee table with a thud. Bixlow looked up just as Freed picked up another one.

They'd been sitting like this for a good two hours. One on the coach, the other sprawled on the mat. After Freed had curtly explained the basics of the pentagram method they had gone to his home where he could make the necessary preparations. That had been _hours_ ago.

"You done yet?" he muttered, standing up and stretching languidly. He was getting stiff and tired but he didn't want to leave Freed. Right now the Captain needed his company, even if he would never admit it.

Freed was sitting legs crossed with books scattered about him. He was researching everything related to the Pentagram method. There couldn't be any mistakes.

"Basically," he said, without looking up, "I just need to figure out the symbol's properties and then we're good to go,"

Bixlow nodded and took the time to check on his souls. They were sleeping together by the fire. The silence always startled him slightly but he liked it when they huddled like that. Like little children.

Like babies.

But his smile soon faded. There were too many looming threats on the horizon. Too many uncertainties. His gaze drifted to Freed's neck. The mark had spread further now, it was past his mid thighs and upper arms. Freed said he had two days left at the most, and then the thing would be able to do a complete take over.

And he would be lost to them. Forever.

Honestly he wasn't too proud to admit he was scared for his friend. Though he would never say so. His soul eyes could see the demon changing and shifting Freed's soul, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he was consumed entirely.

Bixlow sighed and flopped down next to him on the coach. Bouncing slightly as the springs took his weight and stirred the books. Stretching he stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes and took a moment to gather his thoughts.

The rain continued to pour outside, pattering against the roof. Lightning flashed and he heard the thunder call back far in the distance. The clock ticked the seconds away on the mantelpiece. Bixlow took a deep breath, letting all the anxiety go in a puff of air. Being worked up was not going to help-

"I think we're ready," Freed said suddenly, jolting Bixlow from his relaxed position.

His muscles tensed up. He so badly wanted all this to be over with. So things could go back to normal. He really missed normal. Scanning the book Freed finally closed it and turned to face him. The thunder rumbled softly beyond the windows.

"I'm going to draw the Pentagram on my body," he explained as he unbuttoned his white shirt revealing dark bruised skin. Bixlow tried not to look at the angry marks. Freed was probably in pain, but he'd never let it show. Stubborn bastard.

"This will not only stop the progression of the demon for a few days, but will also enable me to use some of my magic,"

"There's a catch," Bixlow said in a dry tone, crossing his arms.

"You don't have to be so suspicious" Freed snapped his back stiff, "I just can't overload my powers. Otherwise it shatters,"

He snorted, "There a reason ya haven't used it before now?"

"Yes," Freed said tilting his chin defiantly, "Pentagrams are very specific, I had to be certain what demon it was. Along with it's name." he huffed, "It's very dangerous just to make a pentagram and hope for the best Bixlow,"

"Okay, okay" he said raising his hands, "Let's just get this over with, where do we start?"

For a moment he was certain Freed was going to say something else. His eyes were narrowed and mouth tight. But then he relaxed, nodded and opened his book. "Like I said I need to draw it on my body-"

"How big?"

He made a small circle on his open chest.

"That won't be big enough to generate enough power Freed,"

His friend nodded, "I'll draw a second one in the attic," he pulled off his shirt, "That one will be act like a generator. When we get back it should be strong enough to be combined with this one and then I can start exorcising it,"

It made sense. Much like giving a car boost with a magic source from outside. By combining the two you got a more powerful vehicle for a short while. Bixlow watched as Freed opened the book to several different Pentagrams. There was about sixteen of them. Each with written instructions on the side.

The way he understood it you needed to 'build' a pentagram from the knowledge you had about the demon. The base was picked from one of the sixteen starting pentagrams. Each representing a gate. The center was the name of the demon and the five points were a combination of characteristics and chants that would pull it from the body. Quite complicated and very risky. A mistake could do more damage than good.

"What do you need me to do?" he asked trying to stop his thoughts from drifting to possible bad scenarios.

"I'm going to draw the first one in the attic," he reached into his bag and pulled out two black chalk pieces. He handed one to Bixlow. It was smooth and hot to the touch. Freed pulled a knife out and with practiced ease cut off the tip off his own chalk. Inside it glowed a smoldering red. He reached over and did the same to Bixlow's, "It's going to take a lot out of me, so when I'm done I need you to draw the second one on my chest, and then link them,"

He watched the smoldering chalk for a moment, "You sure about this?"

Freed nodded and stood up, taking the book and chalk, "It's the only way,"

Bixlow hummed softly. He trusted Freed with many things. His life, his sanity, his dignity but when it came to Freed's own well being. That was a different story. The man never looked after himself. Despite his outward persona, he just cared too much about everyone else.

Bixlow listened to the rain, the hearth crackling softly accompanied by the light snoring from his souls.

He reached out to touch the burning coal.

A hand reached out to stop him.

He slowly looked up at Freed. But his friend was looking intently at the smoking chalk.

"It will burn you," he said in a small voice and finally met his eyes. There were so many emotions in that gaze. But Bixlow could see the hint of pleading he was trying to hide. Begging him not to back out. There were a lot of things he was prepared to do. But to hurt him intentionally...

He didn't want to do this. This changed things. A lot. He would have to hurt Freed to save him, and by the look on his face this was probably going to hurt a lot.

There was no other way though.

If they didn't do this, if they didn't do this now Freed would be lost forever, and that simply wasn't an option. No. It had never been an option. They'd see it through to the end. He rose from his seat and wordlessly nodded to Freed. If this was the only way then so be it. No matter how much it was going to hurt them both.

They went up to the attic. Broken hinges still hung on the wall where the door had once been. A small pile of shattered wood had been swept into the corner, and the rest was still he same. Freed stepped in and walked to the center of the room. Taking a deep breath he knelt down and placed the book next to him. The chalk glowed faintly and with no ceremony he leaned down and started to draw.

The chalk seared the wooden floor, creating scorched patterns that glowed a faint hue of red. Smoke coiled up bringing with it the smell of firewood laced with metal. It was an odd combination and one that made Bixlow crinkle his nose in disgust. Progress was slow and Freed was painstakingly careful. Small trickles of sweat slid down his face and pooled in his neck. Bixlow didn't dare move, lest he break his concentration. A page was turned and he started on the next phase.

The minutes ticked by and he lost track of time. The sound of rain and floor boards being seared an almost hypnotic combination. Or perhaps it was the scent from the chalk? He couldn't decide.

What seemed like hours slid by and when Freed sat back gasping and panting Bixlow stood up silently and went to stand beside him.

"You okay?" he asked steadying his friend with one hand. Freed nodded.

"More tiring than I thought," he swallowed before looking up at him with tired eyes, "Start with the base. Then the center and then the five points. The top first and go clockwise" he was shivering, his hands gripping his pants leg trying to stop it from showing. Bixlow nodded and gently encouraged Freed to lay on his back. Once he was settled he brought the black chalk up, hesitating. His gaze drifted to the Pentagram glowing and smoldering in the middle of the room. The edges were scorched. He could still smell the burning wood...

A hand touched his arm, "Bixlow,"

He turned and looked at Freed. Expression almost pleading, almost fearful. He closed his eyes and taking a deep breath he braced himself, and brought the chalk to his chest. The moment it touched the open skin he knew this was going to be hell.

"You want me to stop?"

"No!" he gasped, then shut his eyes tightly as the burning ember continued its path down.

"No! No!" the souls mimicked softly.

Bixlow was barely halfway through the base when Freed had started choking and wincing. Then as he was almost finished with the first phase he'd cried out and _then_ he'd nearly thrown him off. Realizing it was spiraling out of control, Bixlow had quickly summoned his souls to help him.

Freed was writhing beneath him now, sweating, panting, his nails digging into the floorboards as he strained against the pressure on his arms. The five totems were pushing him down, keeping him from breaking free and Bixlow straddled his hips for extra wheight. Freed will thank him later for giving him something to fight against.

"Just hang in there," he said softly, tracing the center with acute precision.

"B-Bixlow it..." he panted his eyes squeezed shut and Bixlow tried to ignore the tears spilling from them. The room stank of burning flesh, it coiled up from the smoke assaulting his senses, but this too was ignored. Only the five points remained now. Sweat trickled down the side of his face, dripping on the exposed and bruised skin. He'd removed his helmet long ago, the faint green glow from his eyes creating an eerie combination with the burning red.

He started on the first point and Freed let out a choked cry. He was bracing severely now. He could see him fighting the urge to break free and the need to save himself from the pain. Bixlow focused on the job at hand. He couldn't afford to stop. Not now.

By the third point Freed was screaming.

"Bixlow s_top_, gods _please_ stop! I can't _take it_ anymore! _Please stop_!" he voice was raw, tearing and loud.

"Please stop! Please stop!" they echoed.

Bixlow ignored them. His shirt was soaked through in sweat, his hair plastered to his face as he tried to keep focus above his screaming friend and echoing totems. The tears were flowing freely now. Slipping down Freed's temples and disappearing into his hair. He was fighting so hard now, making it almost impossible for Bixlow to keep writing without making a mistake.

"Please, stop..." he whispered before letting out a blood curdling scream when Bixlow started on the forth point. It became a disjointed mantra, begging, offering him everything if he would just stop! But still he ignored it. Ignored everything except for the movement of the chalk as it sailed across the black skin.

"I'm sorry!" he was whimpering and crying now, "I'm sorry for everything I've done. I'll do anythi-" he cut off again. His voice tearing viciously at the near shriek. It echoed and clapped in the room, continued to do so for a what seemed like forever. Fighting like a wild animal desperately trying to break free.

He drew in the last character and sat back. Freed stopped almost immediately, hiccuping and crying. Bixlow's ears were ringing. His hands now shaking from the tension and adrenaline. He watched as his totems released his friend, watched as he curled up and hissed and whimpered at the pain still in his chest. Exhaustion swept over him and he felt sick. Without thought he reached out and pulled the whimpering man closer.

Freed was still sobbing, muttering into his shoulder, his tears soaked up into his shirt. He held on with one arm, rocking back and forth, barely listening to the muffled words. Right then Bixlow needed comfort. To find some semblance of balance again. Freed was in no condition to give any to him right now. He was still screaming and crying. But Bixlow held on, trying to forget what had happened, taking what he could get for the time being.

And silently hoping it had all been worth it.

* * *

I hope Freed wasn't too OOC? Just let me know and I shall edit forthwith! :3

And Laxus WILL be in the next chapter. I already wrote him in. He shall not escape from my clutches this time!


End file.
